‘Noise? I’m in Hoddle Street. In the mother of all fucken jams, that’s the noise. What’s the name of that fucken street you’re in?’
I told Senior Sergeant Tregear.
‘Be there in, I don’t fucken know. I’ll hoot for you. Gimme a word outside.’
Ten minutes later, he hooted. I went outside. He was in a blue Falcon fifty metres down the street, half on the kerb. When I got close I saw his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He raised his left arm and pointed to the passenger side. I got in. The car was warm and smelt of cigarette smoke and Chinese food.
‘Jack,’ Barry Tregear said. He was wearing a blue suit, a green shirt and a violet tie, all tired looking. ‘What’s with the fucken overalls? Joined the working class now?’
‘Helping out,’ I said. I didn’t feel like explaining.
Barry took a packet of Newport off the dash and extracted a cigarette with his teeth. He lit it with a throw-away lighter.
‘I got two minutes,’ he said. ‘Jack, listen, this McKillop business. Can I give you a word of advice?’
‘Everyone else does.’
He took a deep draw, puckered his lips and blew a thin jet of smoke up past his nose. ‘I’d give it a miss if I were you.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I don’t think it’s something you want to get mixed up in now. Sensitive business these days, cops shooting people. Wait for the inquest.’
‘That doesn’t answer the question,’ I said.
‘Trust me, mate. I’ve got your interests at heart.’
‘I’ll think about it. Did you get hold of Scullin?’
Barry nodded. ‘Not easy. He’s a busy man.’
‘I thought you said he’d gone fishing.’
‘Just a manner of speaking. He’s a smart fella. Runs some kind of security business now. Makes big bucks.’
‘What did he say about McKillop?’
‘He says he never talks about police business.’ Barry wound down his window and flicked the cigarette stub out. It landed on the bonnet of a car on the other side of the street.
‘That’s all?’
‘That’s all.’
‘You drove around here to tell me that?’
‘No. I wanted to tell you something else.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Jack,’ he said, ‘don’t ask me any more questions about McKillop. Okay?’
Ronnie Bishop’s mother lived deep in working-class Brunswick. But even here the first seeker after capital gains had appeared. Right next door. The humble weatherboard dwelling had been given a picket fence, brick paving, two silver birches, a paint job and a brass ship’s bell. Mrs Bishop’s cottage appeared to be trying to lean on the newly straightened frame of its facelifted neighbour.
Mrs Bishop looked at me long and hard from behind a security gate after I introduced myself. Behind her the house was dark. She was probably in her seventies, small, sharp-featured, well-preserved and dressed like someone going out.
‘I rang about Ronnie,’ I said.
She held up a hand. ‘Sorry to stare. You look like my sister’s late boyfriend. Now there was a devil. Come in.’
We went down a dark passage, two doors on each side. She opened a door at the end and light flooded in. Beyond was a large new section, the width of the house, with full-length windows looking on to a paved terrace crammed with greenery.
‘This is nice,’ I said, looking at the glossy sealed floorboards, the newish upholstered chairs and sofa. Next door wasn’t the only place on the street that had been smartened up.
‘Ronnie paid for it,’ she said. ‘Sent me to Noosa for two weeks, rained all the time, never mind that. Came back, I nearly fell over, I can tell you. Opened the door and there it was, new furniture, everything. Like a dream, really. Sit down. I’ve just made some tea.’
There were biscuits too, bought biscuits but nice, on an EPNS server in the shape of a giant leaf.
‘Nice and warm, isn’t it,’ Mrs Bishop said. We were both sitting on the sofa. ‘Ronnie put in the central heating. Before that I used to sit on a hot water bottle with my feet on another one some days. Cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss, my late husband used to say.’
‘You said on the phone that Ronnie was depressed…’
Mrs Bishop looked away and when she answered all the cheerfulness had gone out of her voice. ‘Ronnie has AIDS, Mr Irish.’ Tears began to run down her powdery cheek, turning pink in the clear light from outside. I felt deeply helpless. I cleared my throat.
‘Do you think that had something to do with his disappearance?’
She turned back to me, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know. When I went to the police, they didn’t seem interested after I told them Ronnie was…was sick.’
‘How long was he going to stay in Melbourne, Mrs Bishop?’
‘Only a few days. Then he said he had to see someone and he’d be back soon. And he didn’t come back. And I’ve heard nothing. He wouldn’t do that.’
‘Why did he come to Melbourne?’
‘To see someone. And to see his mum, of course. He’s a lovely boy, Mr Irish. There’s no harm in him.’
‘Yes, I’m sure. Did he see the person?’
Mrs Bishop tidied her hair. ‘I don’t know, Mr Irish. But he said something to me a few days before he disappeared.’
I nodded helpfully.
‘He said, “Mum, if anything happens to me I’m insured for two hundred thousand dollars and most of it goes to you.” And then he said something else.’
She put both hands on my sleeve. ‘He said, my blood went cold, Mr Irish, he said, “Mum, if I turn up dead somewhere don’t ever believe it was my own fault.” That’s what he said. He was standing over there by the window. He’d been walking around the house for hours. Just smoking cigarettes and walking around.’
‘You told the police this?’
‘Of course. I told the lady policeman, Miss Ryan. She wrote it all down.’
‘Mrs Bishop, do you know any reason why anyone would want to harm Ronnie?’
She looked out of the window again. ‘No.’
‘And you don’t know who the person was he came to see?’
‘No, I don’t. Ronnie never talked about himself, Mr Irish. Doug always said Ronnie would make a good spy.’
‘Did he take anything with him that day?’
‘No. Nothing. Everything he brought is here. I even found a CD he’d brought for me. Didn’t say a word, just slipped it into my rack. Just like him. He gave me a kiss and said he was going out for a while and he didn’t come back. I wanted to put a bandaid on the scratch on his cheek but he didn’t want me to.’
‘He had a scratch on his cheek?’
She nodded. ‘He said he scratched it on a hedge on his way to the corner shop to buy cigarettes.’ She looked at me as if something had just occurred to her. ‘You’re not a policeman yourself are you, Mr Irish? Two policemen came and had a really good look around. I’m not sure what they were looking for.’
‘No, Mrs Bishop. I’m a lawyer. I was involved in a trial years ago where Ronnie was a witness. There’s been some new developments lately and I thought Ronnie might be able to help with some information.’
‘I’m sure he’d be delighted to help,’ she said. ‘Did you know he was a social worker once? Helping the poor homeless children on the streets. Of course, what he really wanted to do was make films. Ronnie loved films. He saved up to buy a movie camera. He was always filming things.’
‘Was he a trained social worker, Mrs Bishop?’
‘Well, not really. He was a clever boy and he started at Melbourne University but he didn’t really settle down. Doug and I were living in Queensland then, for Doug’s health. Not that it improved. He missed the football so much, you know, I think it lowered his resistance.’
‘So Ronnie was a paid social worker, was he?’
‘Oh yes. He worked for the Safe Hands Foundation. They help the homeless.’
I’d never heard of the foundation but that didn’t mean anything. ‘Why did Ronnie move to Perth, Mrs Bishop?’
She pondered this for a moment. ‘I don’t know, really. Just wanted to go somewhere else, I suppose. Young people are like that, today, aren’t they?’
Ronnie was always going to be a young person to his mum. ‘He bought a new car before he left. That must have been expensive.’
She smiled. ‘He won some money on the Lotto. He took me to Georges to buy a winter coat. I’ve still got it. Beautiful. He’s such a generous boy.’
It was time to go. Mrs Bishop came to the front gate with me. In front of the house next door, a man in a dark double-breasted suit was leaning against a BMW, talking into a mobile phone. He gave Mrs Bishop a wave: five stiff fingers moved from side to side. He’d be making her an offer for the house any day now. I said I was sure Ronnie would be in touch soon, gave her my card, shook her small hand, and left.